


Pillow Talk

by MSL (maidamedia)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:26:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21828172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maidamedia/pseuds/MSL
Summary: A first time story.   Aziraphale is determined to keep the two of them safe from both Heaven and Hell.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	Pillow Talk

**Author's Note:**

> Authors: MSL and CB. If I could get it through the form, I would.

It was already getting dark when Aziraphale locked the door of his shop. He looked longingly through the window before turning resolutely away.

And bumped straight into Crowley.

For a moment, he held his breath then, with an anger he didn't know he could feel, he hauled back and punched Crowley square on the jaw. How Crowley took this, Aziraphale, for the moment, couldn't tell and couldn't have cared less to learn. Pain dominated everything.

A whoosh of air followed him into the suddenly opened shop as Crowley shoved him in and snapped his fingers, slamming the door behind them. "Just what exactly was that all about," Crowley shouted, rubbing his reddened chin.

"I think it's broken," the angel said through gritted teeth as he examined his hand.

"Here, give me that." Grabbing the wrist roughly, Crowley touched it lightly to a chorus of varying pitched yelps. "Not broken, but it should be." Taking Aziraphale's other hand, he poised it over the angel's injured wrist. "Heal it," he commanded.

"I can't go around healing myself," Aziraphale complained, all the while wincing miserably.

"Of course, you can. One, two, three..." He waited, holding the injured limb and glaring. "Now!"

A slight change in the angel's face showed that he was doing as demanded. And that produced a much relieved look. Aziraphale shook his hand, making sure that it was, indeed, repaired. "It feels much better."

"Good. Next time you try that, keep your thumb out of your fist." Crowley demonstrated, then ducked when Aziraphale swung a little wildly in his attempt to follow Crowley's instructions.

While Aziraphale batted at the air several times, enjoying his new skill, Crowley looked around the familiar shop, now more desolate than he could ever remember having seen it. Dust covers veiled tables and were draped over bookshelves. And beneath the covers, the chairs could be seen to be perfectly spaced and upside down on the tables. If he'd stopped at his place, as he'd first planned to do, Crowley realized, he would have had no idea where Aziraphale had gone, a thought that made Crowley innards clench, and his anger rise.

"Just where are you off to?" Crowley complained. "I almost missed you."

"Missed me," Aziraphale repeated, stopping his shadow boxing and letting his own anger out. "Missed me! You've been gone for two whole months. Never told me you were leaving. Never said where you were going. And YOU complain that I didn't tell YOU where I was going?" He stormed over to Crowley and got into his face in a way he'd never done before. "I was going to look for YOU, YOU BASTARD!"

"Oh."

There was silence until Crowley finally said, "Sorry, Angel. Didn't think."

There was an obvious conflict in Aziraphale that resolved itself as it usually did. "I forgive you," he finally said. Then brushing past, he moved into the back area. "Let me get some tea started and you can tell me where you've been," he said, pulling covers off counters and opening cupboards to find two cups.

Relieved to have something to do, Crowley removed more covers from the sitting area, looked for a place to put them, then shrugged and miracled them away and settled into his accustomed seat. He never said a word when he was handed a cup of tea, but obediently sipped it as Aziraphale settled down and made it obvious he was waiting.

"Even if I wasn't going to move to Alpha Centauri now," Crowley started, "I thought it wouldn't hurt to check it out. Insurance policy."

"And?" the angel encouraged.

"It was lovely. Telescopes get it right. Gorgeous colors, sweeping winds that could be the next creation when your boss decides she's up to another big art project. Potential? It's got it. You know what they say. Location. Location. Location."

"Sounds like it has everything you were looking for."

"As long as I enjoy spending my time talking to myself. Problem is, I'm always agreeing with me. Boring." Sipping at the tea unconsciously, Crowley twisted his face at the taste. A slight change of reality and the contents of the cup became a rich burgundy. Smiling, Crowley sipped appreciatively, nodding at the angel who had just looked up from his own.

"And you didn't tell me you were going because..."

The question hung in the air for a moment as Crowley tried to understand what he'd done wrong. "We never kept each other informed before." The excuse sounded a little hollow as he said it aloud.

"True," Aziraphale agreed. "But then we'd never spent so much time together either." He sipped again and kept his eyes on the liquid sloshing around. "It just seemed to me that things were a little changed between us." He looked up and held Crowley's eyes.

"Right." Crowley said finally. "Friends. But as my first friend, I might need a few suggestions, just from time to time, about what's expected," he paused but kept the eye contact, "and what I should expect."

A slow smile spread across the angel's face. "What about a three course meal at a new eatery I found around the corner? Italian."

"Chianti! Perfect!" Looking around, Crowley suddenly made the connection between the covers in the room and what his friend had said when they'd first met. "But I think I have a better idea. No reason not to take advantage of all the preparations you've already made. Dinner on me." He reached out a hand and took Aziraphale's. "In Italy."

One moment they were there, the next they were gone. And a few moments after that, the front door relocked itself.

***********************

The music was too soft to wake Aziraphale, who slept in the large bed by the window. Crowley, curled up around an arm chair in front of the fire, letting the string quartet relax him into the state he needed to be in to get to sleep. After a late dinner, the two had enjoyed a stroll through the familiar, yet different, streets of old Florence until the angel had protested that his body might be only a few months old, but it had had it. And so they'd made their way to the flat Crowley kept on the top floor of one of the ancient buildings on the Via dei Calzaiuoli, one reason he'd chosen this particular location for the first stop in what he intended to be a tour of locations remembered fondly by both of them.

A stirring in the bed drew his eye to a form turning over and now facing him, even if it wasn't aware of him. Crowley knew they were together, and that was enough for now. Very soon he'd take off his clothes, put on one of the nightshirts he kept here and climb into bed beside the angel. Not the first time and not the last. Over the years there had been many times when they preferred to share a bed with one another than with a member of one of their human entourages. Sexual connotations had never arisen as they took their asexuality for granted. At least Cowley had. Of late, he'd wondered whether Aziraphale was quite as asexual as Crowley had always assumed. Of late he'd wondered the same thing about himself.

So far, Crowley hadn't had to come up with many explanations to give Aziraphale as to where Crowley had been or what he'd been doing. Sightseeing together let Aziraphale assume that Crowley had just gotten tired of sightseeing alone. While true, that had only been a small piece of the truth.

Crowley looked around the familiar room. He'd spent quite a bit of time protecting this space. And protecting the protections so that what he'd done was practically invisible to even supernatural creatures like themselves. Aziraphale might trust that their respective bureaucracies had moved past anger at their interference with the expected progression of events, but Crowley knew better.

He'd walked into that fire in heaven with the same calm, non-judgmental demeanor that he knew the angel would have shown walking to his destruction, but inside Crowley had been raging. How DARE they try to discorporate one of the kindest souls that earth had ever been lucky enough to have walk its paths and byways? How DARE they threaten a single white curl on that lovable head?

They'd enjoyed a stunning meal, chatting all the time about the places Crowley had gone alone, and the places Crowley hoped they would go together. None of it was true, of course. Where Crowley had been had been preparing his own version of a Great Plan.

Fact. The two of them had been behind the collapse of the plans of all of Heaven and Hell.

Fact. The more Heaven and Hell thought about that, the more they were definitely NOT going to like that.

Fact. Revenge is more than just the province of humans.

Conclusion. Stay out of the way of Heaven or Hell.

He and his angel had shown that cooperation could achieve amazing results. And the cooperation between the dark and the light had already started with the attempt to destroy them both. He hadn't seen that cooperation for himself, of course. All his judges and jury had been angels, but if his blood could have run cold, it would have as Aziraphale described Michael's descent into Hell. Michael had been after Crowley's own destruction. Aziraphale might not have an ounce of hatred in that soft, white body of his, but Crowley had enough for both of them.

For that sweetly sleeping angel, Crowley was willing to defy all of Heaven and all of Hell to keep Aziraphale safe. Even if that meant defying the Lord Almighty. Unconsciously, Crowley sent up an instinctive prayer for the safety of one sleeping angel. "Now I lay me down to sleep." After all, he'd been, himself, an angel far longer than he'd been one of the fallen. And if he had noticed the prayer, he would have explained it away by saying that it never hurt to hedge your bets.

Stretching precariously, Crowley slipped out of the chair, went to the closet and, removing his clothing, carefully hung them up before taking out a black nightshirt. Well, they were all black, but this was the one he'd picked up in Soho not far from the bookshop. As he closed the mirrored door, he stopped to look at himself - something he rarely did. He had, after all, seen that reflection for eons past, whether in placid lakes or gold-framed mirrors.

Not the muscle-bound image of human beauty that so often adorned the canvases and bronze images that they would be viewing tomorrow - correction, later today. But sleek - sinuous. Over his shoulder the mirror showed the sleeping angel, settled now in unmoving, peaceful rest. How he would enjoy winding himself around that figure. Soft curves he could follow and a odor that would be heavenly when squeezed.

A flick of a hand and the music reduced itself to an almost inaudible level as he slipped into bed and luxuriated in the warmth of the body just beyond his touch. His eyes closed, and he let himself drift in the temporary safety of their soft and warm nest.

A short time later, white eyelashes flickered as Aziraphale let his body tilt toward the weight pressing down the mattress beside him. A slight smile on his lips, the angel slept again.

*********************************

"It's a strange feeling, Crowley. Everything's the same and yet it's all different. That statue over there," Aziraphale pointed to a Roman piece. "Before they moved it to the Loggia dei Lanzi, I remember it sat closer to the water."

"It was in better condition then, too," Crowley agreed, glancing over his shoulder. But his attention refocused on a serpentine marble piece, the three figures wrapped around one another, and he walked over to study the lines with obvious pleasure. "You have to admit that my suggestion for the addition of a woman balanced the composition."

A slight blush rose on Aziraphale's cheeks. "I don't need to admit any such thing. I thought we were doing fine with just the two figures." Glancing around, he whispered, "I only hope no one recognizes me. And the title! Jean swore to me that the subject was my saving the young woman from – I forget from what, but I was definitely saving her. Certainly NOT..." He glanced at the name on the piece, "The Rape of the Sabine Women," and the blush turned into a blaze.

"Well, I think with the muscles on that statue, you're well disguised."

Walking around the piece, Aziraphale examined the long leg with muscled calf and thigh, then stretched out his own leg and pointed his toe. "I'll have you know that Giambologna was very impressed with my development."

"You sure he wasn't just impressed with your ability to hold that young lady up in the air? Can't believe you could do that today."

The angel had the grace to look embarrassed. "She's actually standing on a chair. This corporation is, after all, only human. And she wasn't anywhere near as slightly built as he made her look. She drove chariots over by the market and had biceps I could have only dreamed of."

"However did you end up as a sculptor's model?" Crowley moved on to the next piece, taking a moment to check the surrounding crowd. He'd chosen the lunch hour for their walk today, as it would put a good percentage of their fellow tourists into restaurants and make the rest easier to examine. The morning's good feeling was gone, although the sky was still as deep a blue and the competing sound of street musicians lent the plaza a cheerful air. Something was different, though, and it was driving Crowley crazy that he couldn't put his finger on it. Angel was oblivious. As usual.

"Actually? You'll laugh, but the fashions they had us wearing." Aziraphale's grimace set Crowley off, but the angel ignored him. "So, of course, when I discovered a profession where the lack of those abysmal rags was de rigeur, how could I resist? The weather here can be simply superb. And, oh, the smell of a studio."

"I remember," Crowley said, without the angel's enthusiasm as he stared up at the bronze of Perseus high over their heads.

"That's right! You modeled for that piece of Cellini's, didn't you?" Aziraphale's surprised exclamation would have been suspicious if Crowley had been looking at him, but Crowley was looking back almost half a millenium. To a time when his friend had talked him into modeling with him for another piece. When they'd spent weeks locked naked in each other's arms.

"Cellini was one of yours," Aziraphale said softly but firmly.

"Most of the good ones were," Crowley admitted absently.

"Good is a word that applies to many different contexts, Crowley. You won't get me saying that Cellini was a good man."

Grinning, Crowley turned to give his friend his full attention. "But you'll admit that he was a good artist." A wave of his hand indicated the piece they'd been examining.

"I'll admit that he was a FINE artist," Aziraphale compromised.

"And on that delicate distinction, may I suggest that we repair to that outdoor cafe you pointed out on our way here. You can enjoy lunch and we'll both enjoy a bottle of their fine local wine. Perhaps when we get to the bottom of the bottle, we'll have settled that age old question of good and evil." When the angel would have objected, Crowley quickly added, "Ineffable. Yes, I know. But don't you think that's just a little bit cheating to use as an explanation for all of our arguments?"

And on that new disagreement, they wandered happily away.

*********************************

They were on the second bottle of a not too pretentious chianti when Crowley noticed a sad expression crossing Aziraphale's face. Enjoying the challenge, he watched his friend closely as the angel glanced back toward the Loggia they had recently left and then down at his hands, holding a temporarily stilled fork. The eyes flicked to Crowley and then, with a smile, he reattacked the pudding.

"You weren't tempting me, Angel. I was tempting you." The soft words barely made it across the table. Aziraphale looked up in shock. "You didn't invite me to share your bed that night because you thought we'd end up having sex, which I'll remind you we never did. You invited me because you felt sorry that the place I was staying burned down. After we'd spent the day resisting invitations from Benny to join his orgy that night, it would have been impossible for you not to have sex on your mind."

"Thoughts I can accept as temptations to rise above. Nocturnal emissions, on the other hand," Aziraphale said with heightened color, "are another matter altogether."

"You didn't!"

"Twice," admitted Aziraphale, with a quick glance up from his plate. "You can't even imagine the guilt I felt about that. Not to mention the mess!"

Successfully smothering a smile, Crowley nodded sympathetically. "No, probably not. But you've got to accept that when you take on a corporation, there are natural functions that come along with it that you can't do anything about. You don't feel guilty needing the loo, and you have no reason to feel guilty when your body takes care of a buildup of sexual fluids either. In fact, I'll bet you felt much better afterwards. Relaxed. And that just shows what a healthy release you had. Trust your body, Angel. It's just telling you what it needs."

"What a fascinating way of thinking about it. And I really did feel much better afterwards. What a shame I couldn't talk to you about it then. You could have saved me centuries of worry."

"Always glad to help." The twinkle in Crowley's eyes was unseen behind the sunglasses. "Being a demon is an advantage sometimes. Consider the difference between us. You, a principality whose focus is on helping people do what you consider to be the right thing. You concentrate on the way people interact." The fork that had been waving in the air fell back to the plate as Aziraphale listened with rapt attention.

"Now me? I tempt people. So I have to know what people are feeling. I concentrate on the individual. You concentrate on the society." Leaning back in his chair, Crowley sprawled. "So think of me as your local expert on whatever your body needs. Questions? I'm your man."

"Like a doctor!" Aziraphale said, laughing.

"Precisely! And anytime you want to play doctor, I'm for it."

Knowing the angel's threat to throw even one of the bits off the plate at him were unlikely, Crowley leaned back in his chair. They shared a grin. The fork finished its journey into Aziraphale's mouth. "Oh, Crowley, you really need to try this."

"No, I don't. I'm perfectly happy with a taste of the grape." And lifted his glass in a slow sip, letting the liquid flow throughout his mouth.

The ecstatic look on the angel's face changed into one of speculation and then a smile spread across it. He picked up another forkful of the sweet filling and, catching Crowley's eye, put it into his mouth and slowly let the flavor spread, never losing eye contact. Swallowing, he licked his lips. "You know, Crowley, if you tried that cannoli filling at this very moment, it would taste exactly like my mouth."

A blink and then Crowley's eyes opened wider, before he burst out laughing and, taking the fork from his friend, scooped up a large bit of the filling and put it into his mouth. His tongue flicked out several times to clean the cream off his lips and Aziraphale's tongue unconsciously did the same. Taking another scoop, Crowley fed the angel half the forkful and slowly licked the rest off the tines.

Softly he murmured, "Never try to tempt a tempter, Angel. You never know just where you're going to be led. Later tonight, before we get into bed together, I'm going to taste your mouth and see if I can still taste this flavor. So make sure you've carefully thought out what you're going to do and say when I do. All right?"

As if hypnotized, Aziraphale nodded, then shook his head emphatically. "That's not fair, Crowley."

Picking up his glass to wash the sweet flavor out of his mouth, Crowley sipped and smiled as he put the glass down. "Since when is temptation fair? That would take all the joy out of it. Temptation is fun! Something that's completely outside the experience of those friends of yours up there," indicating Heavenward with a tilt of his chin. "Now, what's next on your sightseeing list?"

As Aziraphale's eyes flickered up over Crowley's head, the demon put his head down into his hand. "Not another church! I thought we were on vacation."

Guiltily, Aziraphale put a cheerful expression on his face. "Vacation. Of course. Perhaps the Uffizi? I know we were planning that for all day tomorrow, but we could get an early start. And we saw that advertisement for the bronze sculpture exhibit."

Guilt isn't the province of angels alone. "No, you do the church. I saw a wine shop nearby and I'll pick up a couple bottles for tonight and check out the bookshop that was near it to see if there's anything I think you might want to go see."

"Oh, I would like that. If you're sure you wouldn't mind." At Crowley's nod, Aziraphale was out of his seat and making his way quickly toward the square and to the Sante Croce Franciscan church.

Watching him, Crowley left appropriate lira for the meal and tip and set off on the errands he'd described, that strange, uncomfortable feeling returning. He shook it off. Enough alcohol and he wouldn't be feeling much of anything.

*********************************

"If you're looking for your friend," Hastur gave the word a nasty emphasis, "he's in there," he said, indicating the church with a tilt of his head. "Surprised you aren't in there with him. Thought you liked all that holy stuff these days. Trying to get away from your real friends, are you? Well, I can tell you it doesn't work that way. You made your bed millenia ago, regardless of where you're sleeping these days. I assume it's with your friend."

With a nonchalance Crowley was definitely not feeling, he turned slowly around. "Hastur. How ARE the fiends of Hell? Keeping busy now that the Big Plan fell apart? Too bad about that, but there's always the chance that the other side would have won, so maybe you should just be enjoying the extra time you were gifted." As he spoke, Crowley backed gradually closer to the archways of the church cloister from which one could enter the interior parts of the church or the gardens.

Naturally following, Hastur and the other two demons maintained their distance. "We've been talking, Crowley, and whatever you've been doing to give you your protection is something we'd like to know more about. So maybe you'd like to join us and have a friendly little chat."

"Much as I'd love to do that, Hastur, I'm on vacation just now and I could never disappoint my friend. So maybe when we get back, you and I could see about setting something up. Lunch, maybe. By the way, have you ever thought about doing something about that complexion problem of yours? I passed a shop that had ever so many concoctions that they said could fix skin problems worse than yours. Want me to give you the address?"

As Hastur made a rush at him, Crowley retreated the last few steps to the stones of the cloister. Without thinking, the demons followed, only to start jumping around as the stones began to burn their feet and then dashing off the walkway. Crowley paced along, the others following on the grass alongside. "Oh, I forgot. You still have a problem with consecrated ground. Too bad. Some of the most beautiful art in the world has been made for churches and you're missing all of it. Of course," Crowley said reflectively, as he continued to pace, you could see it on the Internet, but I don't think art is the same unless you can actually stand in front of it and see the brushstrokes. Don't you agree?"

Ignoring Hastur's inarticulate growl, and feeling Aziraphale just beyond the door he had reached, Crowley took a deep breath and opened the door. "Sorry, boys, have to go. If you feel like waiting around and want to have dinner, we should be through here in a few hours. Enjoy!" With that, he slipped through the door.

Oh, the pain! If the stones of the archway were hot, these were reminding him of the fires of Hell when he'd first arrived. Almost unbearable. Except that it was bearable, because Angel was inside and he needed to find him and get him back to the safety of the flat.

The interior was immense and dark and beautiful, but all Crowley could see was the light that seemed to shine from that figure standing quietly before the altar. High windows gave a dim light in which the beloved white curls glowed. Somewhere someone was practicing the organ, magnificent Bach, broken by the occasional wrong note and then the mangled musical phrase would begin all over again.

Knowing Aziraphale wouldn't appreciate him yelling from the doorway, Crowley danced his way down the center aisle, the pain too great to appreciate the paintings and sculptures that he passed. The closer he got to the altar, the greater the burning until he thought that his shoes were going to catch fire as his Bentley once had. He tried imagining that he was walking on ice cubes, but they melted in his mind before they could cool his feet.

As he got closer, he could hear Aziraphale's soft voice having a conversation with no one. Well, if Crowley could concentrate enough to guess, he imagined Aziraphale was talking to the Almighty. Though why he had to do it in here when She was omnipresent and would listen just as well somewhere that didn't hurt so damn much, Cowley really didn't know. He thought he might have heard his own name, but couldn't really tell. The only things he could think about were the pain in his feet and Aziraphale.

"Angel!" Crowley whispered desperately.

With a small start of surprise, Aziraphale turned around and immediately recognized that the dance Crowley was doing was not his Happy Dance. Aziraphale hurried to meet him, guilt covering his face. "I didn't keep track of the time and made you come after me. I'm so sorry, Crowley. Come on, let's get out of here," and took Crowley's arm to turn him toward the door beyond which Hastur and the other demons were waiting.

Without asking or explaining, Crowley miracled them both into the flat just as his shoes did, indeed, burst into flame. It had been that sort of day.

*********************************

"Does this hurt?" Aziraphale asked, as he tentatively touched the salve to the burned flesh of Crowley's feet.

The instant jerk of Crowley away from the contact would have been answer enough even if the string of curses hadn't followed. "Stay still, Crowley. I'm sorry but we're lucky I even found a salve for burns in the medicine chest."

The guilty glance Aziraphale gave the bathroom door escaped Crowley, whose eyes were tightly closed as he tried to reduce down the pain by simply imagining it gone. He must have been too knackered because his imagination seemed to be lacking just now.

"Let me heal this, Crowley," Aziraphale begged. "It will be so fast no one will know. And the pain will be gone. Just one teeny tiny miracle."

Leaning forward on his elbow, Crowley grabbed the angel's hand. "No!" he demanded. "Not even a teeny tiny one. They're looking for us and they haven't found us. I'm not taking any chances they do because I protected for my powers, not for yours. Just use that salve. I'll stay still."

Leaning back, Crowley kept his word, closing his eyes tightly and stiffening his legs against an inadvertent movement. Aziraphale looked down at the pink salve on his hand and it turned a pale blue. There wasn't a trace of remorse as he smoothed the new salve gently over the burns. A long sigh from Crowley was the angel's reward.

"It's starting to work. Knew it just needed a little time. See, nothing to worry about." Crowley's voice was slowing as he began to relax under the new ointment.

Aziraphale got up from the bed and went to wash his hands. Coming back, he lay down next to Crowley, leaning on his elbow to look at his friend. "How is the pain now?"

"Bearable. Tomorrow we can pack up and go on to the next place on our tour list. What was it? Cairo? I don't think I want to walk on hot sand if Cairo is next. What would you think of switching it for Alaska? I've always wanted to see the bears. Can't run very fast, but bet I could run faster than you."

The old joke just made Aziraphale shake his head. "You won't be able to run at all if you don't let me heal you. Those burns could get infected. And as for leaving, let's decide tomorrow after we see how you're feeling. I think we should go home."

Eyes still closed, Crowley shook his head. "They'll have both of our places staked out. Trust me, it's what I'd do. They might not be as clever as me, but they'll work it out eventually. We keep to our plan and travel until they move on to something else."

"Our Great Plan," Aziraphale teased, giving in to temptation and smoothing the auburn hair that fell over Crowley's forehead. Crowley's eyes flew open. Instantly Aziraphale tensed, then slowly relaxed and he continued to stroke the soft strands. A long sigh was Crowley's only response, his eyes never leaving the angel's.

"Am I tempting you?" Crowley asked.

"Or am I tempting you?" Aziraphale retorted. "A little of both, undoubtedly. But you're right. Temptation and sin are not the same."

"That could be a demon's argument." Crowley's voice had softened.

Aziraphale shrugged. "Sleep. We'll talk in the morning."

Wincing, Crowley flexed his feet. "I'm not going to be able to sleep. My feet burn too much. Some wine?"

The angel glanced at the unopened bottles on the table and shook his head. "I'd rather you not drink until you feel a little better."

"I guarantee the wine will make me feel much better." When Aziraphale shook his head, Crowley shrugged and put his hand on the angel's shoulder and brought him closer. "Then let me taste your cannoli."

"How strange," Aziraphale said with a nervous tremor in his voice. "I've never heard it called that before."

Eyes opening wider, Crowley shook his head in amazement. "And you thought I was moving too fast."

A blush rose in the soft cheeks. "Just a bad joke, Crowley. I don't have your experience with bad jokes. I ruin them." He started to pull away, but the hand on the angel's shoulder tightened.

"I really can't sleep." The voice was almost a croon. "Give me my cannoli to suck myself to sleep and I'll pop right off. Just as soon as you do." The last was said even softer.

"Crowley!" It was a plea.

"I'll sleep. I promise. No more pain."

By the time, Crowley had settled down with his mouth around Aziraphale's organ, the angel could not have explained how it had come to be. He was certain that he'd objected the whole time, but that didn't seem to fit with the fact that he was the one who'd undone his trousers and taken himself out.

And now he was drifting on the most incredible sensations he could have imagined. It was nothing like he HAD imagined. Wetter. Hotter. All awareness centered on a part of his body that he usually paid almost no attention to. Each of his hands held a side of the face that was pressed to his groin. Beneath his fingers he could feel the movement of tongue and lips and he could see himself slipping in and out of those lips. He couldn't look away.

Crowley's eyes were closed and there was an almost primitive murmur coming from him. They were alone together. Locked into this moment in time that was changing by the moment. Growing more intense. His hands urged a rhythm that the lips supplied. There was no sophistication. No playing with the feelings to intensify them. There was only the relentless striving for something that seemed necessary to his very survival.

And then he felt it come. From deep inside himself the feelings grew until he cried out as he felt his muscles spasm and jets of liquid course through the organ. With a last cry, he collapsed back and closed his eyes as that busy tongue licked the last drops that he could feel leaking out.

A weight moved beside him and he felt himself taken into Crowley's arms. "Delicious, just as I knew it would be," was gasped out.

"You hadn't..."

"First time." There was silence for a moment. "Yours, too, I assume."

Aziraphale nodded his head and, in case Crowley's eyes were closed, added, "Yes." Opening his eyes, he stared at the ceiling, early twilight coloring the white of the plaster. "It was wonderful." A small trace of rationality made him hope that the now drying organ wasn't leaving stains on his favorite trousers. Who cared, he decided. It was worth it. But the habit of centuries began to take over and he reached out to tuck himself back in.

"No!" objected Crowley, reaching down to stop him.

"You're going to sleep now. You did promise."

"I lied," Crowley said, turning over to get better purchase to block Aziraphale's actions, and yelped as one burned foot bumped into the mattress.

Instantly, Aziraphale was sitting up and pushing Crowley back down. "Sleep now. We'll discuss puddings later." A stronger than expected hand kept Crowley pressed to the mattress. "You promised me," he reminded Crowley.

The pain was returning so, giving up, Crowley relaxed his body. "Okay, mum. But it's not easy."

"Of course, it is. You just relax your entire body. First the fingers, … , and then the hands, … , and now the arms, the thighs, your lower limbs. The list ran monotonously on.

"The toesie woesies. Relax the toesie woesies," Crowley agreed.

The room was very quiet for a long time as Aziraphale listened to the sound of Crowley's steady breathing. The quiet voice continued in the same monotone, "You're having a very nice dream. In the dream you put me in your mouth and suck until I come." The monotone continued evenly, even as the voice shook. "But it never really happened. It was a dream. A very, very wonderful dream."

"Wonderful," Crowley drowsily agreed, a smile spreading across his face.

Slowly sitting up, Aziraphale wiggled off the bed and walked around to the bottom. Taking each foot in turn into his hands, he healed the burns, then leaned down and kissed each one. A long sigh, then he went to the closet and took out a white nightshirt, put it on and got into bed, settling himself quietly on his own lonely, cold piece of mattress. It was a long time before he slept.

*********************************

"Rise and shine, sleepy head," Aziraphale called, throwing a pillow off a chair onto the bed where Crowley still slept. As Crowley sat bolt upright, Aziraphale continued to the table, where he dumped the armload of takeaway he carried.

"You weren't supposed to go out," Crowley objected, throwing the pillow back. Not looking around, the angel batted it away as he continued laying out food and hot drinks. "Did anyone see you?"

"Would I be here playing waiter if they had?" Aziraphale asked, a bit more acid in his voice than Crowley was used to hearing. He glanced back to the bed. "How are your feet?"

Experimentally, Crowley wiggled them and smiled in relief. "Good as new. That salve really worked. Pack it away. Never know."

A quick smile was returned as Aziraphale settled into one of the chairs at the table. "You seem to be in a positive mood this morning. Good I let you sleep."

"Do you dream?" Crowley asked, grinning as he got out of bed and reached for the coffee, leaving Aziraphale the tea, and leaning against the wall to sip it.

"I don't. Do you?" The innocent look on Aziraphale's face had taken millenia to perfect.

"No." Crowley shook his head. "I mean I haven't before. But I did last night. So I thank you for letting me sleep in. Wouldn't have missed it for the world."

"What did you dream about?" The fork Aziraphale was using to spear pieces of a tiramisu hovered, then struck. He concentrated on enjoying the small piece, not looking at Crowley.

"Nothing important, and I've probably already forgotten it. People do forget dreams right away, I understand."

"So I've heard," Aziraphale agreed, taking his time to choose the next small bit. "Do sit down and have something before we leave. The sugar might give you a little energy. I brought a selection, in case you might. If you don't like the tiramisu," he pointed at the pieces on his plate, "there's a cannoli and some bombolini still in the bag. The sauces are in small containers at the bottom so be careful." Ignoring the sounds of choking behind him, Aziraphale carefully speared another piece. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on identifying the individual tastes. Absolutely delicious.

*********************************

Two small, packed bags sat at the floor at their feet as Aziraphale and Crowley glanced around the room to make sure they hadn't left anything behind. They hadn't. As each picked up a bag, Crowley turned to Aziraphale. "Do you care whether we go to Cairo next or Alaska? My feet are up to hot sand now if you want to stay with our original plan and the Air Egypt plane leaves in two hours. An Alaska flight leaves late tonight, so I'd vote for Cairo. Probably safer."

"Actually," the angel said with a smile, "I've thought of a slightly different plan." He reached out a hand. "Surprise."

Shaking his head in exasperation, Crowley took the extended hand and immediately found the two of them in Aziraphale's bookstore.

"Angel, no!"

But before he could miracle them somewhere else, Aziraphale had dropped his bag and Crowley's hand and, whipping off a dust cover, fallen into a chair. "Angel, yes!" As Crowley reached for his shoulder, Aziraphale held up a hand to stop him. "No!"

It wasn't a thunderclap, but it wasn't the gentle friend he thought he knew so well. Crowley stopped. In the silence, the dominance shifted between them.

Recognizing the change, Aziraphale nodded and got up. While Crowley stood watching, he moved through the shop removing the dust covers and tucking them away in a cabinet Crowley hadn't noticed among the clutter and jumble of the backroom.

"I don't run away," the angel said quietly as he straightened a pile of books that had become disarrayed beneath the cover. "With free will, I chose a course of action and I stand by that choice." He didn't look at Crowley as he went from table to table tidying up. "I prefer not to be discorporated, of course, but I'm not going to spend eternity on the run to avoid it if that's my penance."

Pausing, Aziraphale looked over his shoulder to where Crowley still stood. "But you know your mates best. If you think the best place for you is on the run, so be it. Just send me an occasional message to let me know you're alright."

It was Crowley who broke the eye contact. Walking over to the chair Aziraphale had abandoned, he draped himself over it and dropped his bag on the floor. "Weeelll," Crowley drawled out, "maybe they'll spend their time traveling the world looking for us. Confuse them. That's the thing."

That won him a smile as Aziraphale, his housekeeping duties completed, walked to the door and started to unlock it. Pausing in mid-motion, he stared at the lock then, looking back at Crowley, he relocked the door and walked back to his friend.

"What would you say to our exchanging faces again?" A mischievous grin lit his face. "Who knows when it might be useful to do again." Running a hand down his coat, Aziraphale straightened his tie, glancing up through those long, white-blond lashes. "Besides, it's rather interesting to see myself from the outside in, rather than the inside out, so to speak."

An answering grin met the angel's. "I can think of some activities we could do that would really confuse that in and out thing."

"Crowley!" But his laugh made it clear that sexual innuendo was no longer quite as shocking between them as it might have been some months before.

Crowley pounced.

"You like lists. What say I let you make up one that says what we can and can't do with each other's body? You know, like, it's alright for you to drive the Bentley - carefully! - but it's not alright for you to use any of that funny smelling hair stuff that you use on your hair, on my hair."

"But, Crowley, if you just tried it you'd see how much softer and easier to control your hair would be. Just once," he begged.

"No. Not even once." Not sure that he'd sufficiently cowed his friend, he warned, "Have you ever wondered what you'd look like in a buzz cut? There's a barbershop just one street over that could do the job in no time."

Deflated, Aziraphale agreed. "No shampoo conditioner."

"And when you..." Crowley waved toward Aziraphale's groin, "you know, before you go to sleep, none of that smelly hand lotion that's impossible to wash off. Just something simple any chemist would carry."

"I never!" Aziraphale almost shouted.

"Which is probably why you're always so wound up," Crowley concluded, triumphantly.

"You're putting me on," Aziraphale finally realized with some relief.

"I am, Angel" Crowley admitted, getting up and ruffling the well-loved hair. "But do feel free if the need arises," he added, waving toward his own groin. "I will."

"Crowley!"

Laughing, Crowley held out his hand. "Now?"

Shaking his head, Aziraphale moved around behind Crowley. "What I want to discover is just how much of a touch is needed, and how fast we can do the transfer, so settle down and concentrate."

With a grimace, Crowley waited to feel Aziraphale's hand. What he felt was Aziraphale's front as the angel walked right into his back. Sure enough, as soon as Crowley realized what Aziraphale was doing, he focused on the point of contact and felt the flowing he had felt before. But then he lost his balance and almost broke contact. Hands - someone's hands - grabbed him tight around his middle and he was suddenly behind, looking up at the back of his own head. He made a mental note that he should make an appointment at his own barbershop when he was back in the right body.

"We did it!" Aziraphale-in-Crowley turned around and examined himself with some satisfaction.

"Don't preen, angel. It's not a good look for my face. Besides, we almost didn't. Who knows what would have happened if you hadn't caught me? Next time, give me a warning and let me get my feet planted."

Aziraphale-in-Crowley shook his head. "We need to transfer faster, and we need to know what happens if we get stopped mid-transfer."

"Oh, no, Angel. We are not..." The rest of what Crowley-in-Aziraphale would have said came out of Crowley-in-Crowley's mouth "going to stop midway." He sputtered.

"Concentrate, Crowley. Now, one more time."

It was a good hour before they had worked the kinks out of the transference.

What they'd learned was that the quickest they could change was half a second with a firm contact, and two seconds with a more tentative one. Contact didn't have to be flesh to flesh, but it went faster when it was. And, against Crowley's fervent objections, they'd discovered that an interrupted transfer could be completed when they stayed calm. The more agitated one of them became, the harder it was to complete the process. The bribe that they would spend the night together had been amazingly effective in calming Crowley. Aziraphale decided he'd worry later about why that made him nervous. For now, he had something else to talk Crowley into.

Early as it was, Crowley had already broached one of the wine bottles Aziraphale kept for emergencies under a counter. Taking a wine glass from the same shelf and checking it for water stains, Aziraphale took the bottle and poured himself a small amount, then refilled Crowley's glass.

"You know, Crowley, we were exceptionally lucky to have not been caught when we exchanged faces. Staying in someone else's character isn't easy." Sipping, he picked up and examined one of the books that had appeared unexpectedly in the shop. Yet another children's book - this one some sort of space opera.

"Awww, there was no problem. After 6000 years..." Crowley waved the wine glass around, its volume reduced enough to not be sloshing dangerously over the papers. "I have you down cold."

Straightening his spine and putting a slight sway into his hips, Crowley crossed the room and turned, striking a pose. Slowly the grin disappeared and a gentle, slightly shy smile appeared on the thinner lips. Eyelashes fluttered as he looked down at his hands, then back up at Aziraphale. "It really isn't as difficult as you might imagine, Angel."

"I do not flounce. You make me look like..." he stopped and gathered his dignity together. "It's one thing to be able to fool people who don't see you very often, but I have customers who come in every day to read."

"That's because you won't let them buy anything, Angel," Crowley said, slouching back into his own character. "Give up the occasional book and you might find this shop would pay for itself."

With an effort, Aziraphale stopped his retort. A smile plastered itself across his face. "What would you think about a bet? I'll bet that you can't run this shop for an entire day without anyone sensing something's different."

"Well, of course, I could do that. Easy peasy. But why would I want to? A whole day? Here? Surrounded by just - books?"

Aziraphale ignored the disgust in Crowley's voice. "Because I'm betting that you can't do it."

A cunning look came to Crowley's face. "What do I get if I win the bet?"

"What do you want?" Aziraphale replied. "A bottle of a good Bordeaux? Lunch at the Ritz? Name the stakes. I don't think you can do it."

Returning to the chair, Crowley spreadeagled himself across it. "If I can imitate you for the whole day, then tonight we go to bed naked. And at least part of the night you don't spend way over on the other side of the mattress."

The bobbing of Aziraphale's adam's apple was painfully obvious. He choked out, "And if I win?"

"Then I stay virtuously on my side, wrapped in the most voluminous dressing gown you've got." Crowley's eyebrow raised as he added, "And I expect you not to cheat to help me win. I can win all on my own."

"Done," Aziraphale finally choked out. "All day."

"All day."

Taking a deep breath, the angel said in a cheerful tone, "I believe that the first meeting of my book club is going to arrive in two hours. You might want to find something for them to discuss, since they won't have read anything before they arrive."

"How will I know who's who?" Crowley asked, beginning to glance around the room for some book he might have once read.

"You told me I shouldn't help you win," Aziraphale said virtuously and reached out his hand. As Crowley shook on the bet, the body switch took place.

"I don't suppose you'll suggest a book for me to give 'em?" Crowley-in-Aziraphale asked, looking around the room crowded with books and, for the moment, seeming a bit lost.

"You could always try 'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.'" Aziraphale-in-Crowley suggested, as he slouched to the door and unlocked and opened it. He looked back for a moment at himself, standing almost helplessly in the middle of the familiar shop, shook his head in amusement, and closed the door on himself.

*********************************

The slouch was gone as Aziraphale-in-Crowley started out at a smart pace. He spent the walk working through possible scenarios until he felt confident he'd covered the most likely ones. He'd tried momentarily to take off the unfamiliar sunglasses until he'd remembered that the cat-eyes would be too shocking to people. Besides, the sun did feel brighter than he was used to seeing it.

As he pushed through the glass doors, he had to remind himself to move to the left. This time he was definitely going to Hell.

The noise was almost as bad as the smell. How anyone could stand to live in this place, he couldn't imagine, before reminding himself that that was the whole point. They weren't choosing. Their actions had chosen it for them. And he could only hope that this wasn't somewhere that he'd become familiar with himself. Pasting an insolent Crowley grin on his face, Aziraphale-in-Crowley stepped off the escalator, and sauntered over to Hastur and some unrecognized demons.

"Howdy. Been topside? Beautiful day up there. Blue skies; balmy weather. Say, have you ever thought of picking up some air freshener. I'm especially fond of those little cans that smell like Hawaiian flowers."

"What are you doing here, Crowley? I've got half of Hell out looking for you."

"Tell them they don't need to thank me for getting them out on such a beautiful day. Always happy to help a fellow demon. Which is exactly why I'm here today. I'm going to help you, and I won't even expect any appreciation. Well, maybe a hot toddy come Christmas. The ones up topside never get hot enough."

"I repeat, what are you doing here, Crowley?"

Aziraphale-in-Crowley straightened up and lost the grin. "I'm here to make a deal. I didn't really believe there was a chance in hell, so to speak, that you'd leave me alone even after you agreed, so I decided you needed to see what advantage there was for you in doing that."

"And what advantage would that be?"

"I know where..." Aziraphale-in-Crowley covered his mouth for a moment with one hand and pointed up with the other "is going to build Her next kingdom." The grin was back. "Now, surely, that's worth something to you."

"How would you..." Hastur stopped and began laughing. "Into pillow talk, is he? And I would have thought you'd have kept his mouth busy lower. Not enough down there to interest him, eh?"

Determinedly ignoring the sexual implications, Aziraphale-in-Crowley demanded, "Deal or no deal?" When Hastur didn't immediately answer, the disguised angel tried a different argument. "When Armageddon actually happens, Earth is going to be completely destroyed. Always part of The Plan. But what if the battle doesn't go the way we hope it does?" Before the complaints could rise above muttering, Aziraphale-in-Crowley added, "Bad mistake to not consider all the possibilities, you know. What if it's a draw?" Giving his listeners a moment to consider that unexpected idea, he continued, "Do you really think the other side won't want to give themselves some advantage? Of course, they will. But Earth will be destroyed. There won't be anywhere they can maneuver for those advantages."

Letting that sink in, Aziraphale-in-Crowley miracled a straight-backed chair and sat down on it, leaning his chin casually on the back as he left his listeners waiting for him to continue. "No earth, no advantages to be gained. So what to do? The answer is obvious. You create another Earth. Only when they try to do that, we'll have been there first, putting evil in place before goodness has a chance to lay down roots. We'll need a lot of our kind ready to take on the sort of role I've been doing." A slow smile made it clear he thought he'd been spectacularly successful in that capacity. "Personally, I think we need to set up a local headquarters there, a place to train so that we're ready when that new Earth comes into existence."

While his listeners buzzed among themselves, Aziraphale-in-Crowley took a handkerchief out of his pocket and polished the top of the chair. Miracling the cloth into a spoon, he tapped the chair top until he'd regained their attention, then disappeared the utensil.

"So do we have a deal or not? I tell you where the new Earth will be created, and you leave me alone."

"What if you're wrong? Even if you're right, what if something changes and they build this new Earth in some completely different location?" Hastur's eyes widened as he worked through the answer to that, himself. "Heaven has no idea your little angel friend is flapping his wings in your bed, do they? So you're just going to keep him happy so he stays there, and you pass on to us what he tells you. That's your deal, right?"

When Aziraphale-in-Crowley nodded, Hastur turned to the circle of demons and huddled. The realization that he'd just agreed to letting Crowley stay in touch with this crew made Aziraphale race through possible ways he could have avoided this result, but a sick feeling told him he'd cornered his friend. But, in the end, all he could do was trust Crowley's nimble ability to take care of himself. As long as Crowley could spin this imaginative fable into something that would keep the demons chasing their virtual tails, Crowley was safe. That would have to do.

The huddle broken, Hastur turned to Aziraphale-in-Crowley. "Deal. As long as you let us know what's going on up there," he pointed upward. "you're safe from us." He shook his head in total disgust at himself. "I really hate saying that."

"Oh, you're not going to regret this," Aziraphale-in-Crowley assured them as he got up. "Alpha Centauri. I understand there are some Earth-like planets ready for terraforming, but which one She's chosen, I don't know."

"That's not good enough," Hastur growled. "I don't want to have to send a battalion of demons out there to spy out what they're doing. I need them here."

"Ohh, I'm sure it wouldn't take that many. A legion, surely. Not more than that. And if I learn any more details, you'll be the first to hear." Starting to turn, Aziraphale-in-Crowley paused, then plucked a small bag out of mid-air. "I wasn't sure you had time to pick up any of those lotions I was telling you about, so I got you something I thought might help." He pointed to his own cheek and threw the bag to Hastur, who was so surprised that he caught it. As Aziraphale-in-Crowley started up the escalator, he was sure that he heard the sound of glass breaking. His smile was positively angelic.

*********************************

The day might have been amazingly bright and cheerful for a Soho afternoon, but all Aziraphale-in-Crowley wanted was the peaceful haven of his beloved shop. That would, indeed, be his piece of Heaven. With relief, he pushed open the door and entered the bookshop, leaning against the wall in relief as the door closed out the external world.

A droning sound caught his attention. At first he thought that perhaps his music system wasn't working right. Straightening up, he moved toward the voice, as he now recognized it. Someone, it had to be Crowley, was reading in a monotone. A smile spread across Aziraphale-in-Crowley's lips. It seemed that his demon friend had been seriously trying. That was refreshing.

But as he turned into the small back area of the shop, the angel stopped in his tracks. It was, indeed, Crowley-in-Aziraphale reading to the bookclub but, while he was wiggling in the armchair, trying to stay upright while constantly slipping down into a slouch, the readers Aziraphale had induced to come were cowering against the far wall, shaking in terror.

"Arthur!" Aziraphale-in-Crowley squeaked, then got his voice under control. "Arthur, I waited for you at the restaurant but you must have forgotten our date. Shall I leave and meet you later?"

If hope of rescue was written across the human faces, it lay no less desperately on Crowley-in-Aziraphale's, who leaped to his feet, stumbling slightly at the unfamiliar body's balance. "No! Don't go!" Looking quickly at the cowering book clubbers, Crowley-in-Aziraphale waved a hand toward them. "Not you sort. You should go now."

As if freed from restraint, there was a joint rush for the shop door. Aziraphale-in-Crowley shot a glare at his friend and rushed after them. The rush became a pause and then, smiles all around, the group waved and left. Teeth clenched, Aziraphale-in-Crowley turned the sign to Closed and locked the door. He managed to plaster a smile on his face before turning around.

Reaching the back room in time to be handed a glass of brandy, filled to almost overflowing, the angel swigged down the drink almost as fast as Crowley-in-Aziraphale gulped down a similarly sized potion and then poured them both a second just as full.

Sighing, Crowley-in-Aziraphale collapsed onto the chair and patted a book on the side table. "You thought I couldn't do it, didn't you?" The second drink rapidly chased the first, the third being sipped a bit more appreciatively. "They never knew the difference. Read them a bit out of this," he patted the book again, "and that kept them quiet." A thought occurring, he looked closely at his friend. "Arthur? Is your name Arthur? How did I not know that?"

Grabbing the bottle away, Aziraphale-in-Crowley refilled his own glass, sipped off the top, and retopped it, then handed the bottle back and collapsed into the less comfortable chair. "I don't have a first name. But sometimes I make up possible names for the A and Z on the shop front."

"Like Asriel Zaan, or Amaris Zahara, or..."

"Arthur Zane, if you must know." Another sip and Aziraphale-in-Crowley could start to feel some calm descending. Of course, it could just be numbness. His friend had managed to find the 120 proof bottle.

"Zahara." A smile lit Crowley-in-Aziraphale's lips. "Radiance. You know, you really are rather radiant."

"I can't stand this any longer." Jumping to his feet, Aziraphale-in-Crowley moved to his friend and managed to put his hand on the demon's shoulder instead of his fist on his chin. The switch came fast and they both stood there, adjusting to their own bodies after many hours in one another's. The body in which Aziraphale now existed was, at first, wonderfully relaxed but, gradually, the memory of the day tightened up the muscles of that body, too. A hot shower. That was what he needed. Then maybe a slow soak before bedtime. A reminder of the bet he'd engaged in with his friend, tightened up all the muscles that the thought of the hot shower had just started loosening.

"That's so much better," Crowley crooned to his fingers, flexing them. "Yours aren't as strong for getting off beer bottle caps. Did you know that?" The smile that looked up at him was angelic and Aziraphale found his frustration wasn't proof against it.

"Well, you seem to always be around. You can be in charge of bottle de-capping."

The temptation to kiss the top of Crowley's head was almost irristible, but Aziraphale was strong and successfully resisted. Instead he walked around behind Cowley, pressed him down into the chair and began to stroke the dark red hair, each caress seeming to relax one more tense muscle in his own body. At this rate, he thought, he might not need that extra shower.

Somewhere his phonograph began playing one of his favorite pieces. A Chopin etude. His hands naturally began to move in time to the music. A long, contented sigh came from the wearer of the hair he was stroking. This was what eternity in Heaven SHOULD be like, Aziraphale thought, concentrating on feeling the individual strands. Counting each hair would be like counting the stars.

"I'm ready to go home." Crowley's voice was huskier than usual. Turning in the chair, he looked up at Aziraphale. "This time, let's go to mine."

After a moment, Aziraphale nodded.

**************************

"So I said to Lancelot, "Her husband's old and getting that middle-age spread. She so much wants a baby and is miserable Arthur hasn't given her one. You could give her that child, and Arthur wouldn't ever know. Just think, one fifteen minute shag with the most beautiful woman in the kingdom and the future of the Round Table could be secure forever."

"He didn't know Arthur had two other sons and that it was Guinivere who was barren?"

"Not a clue."

Taking a better grip on the takeaway he was carrying, Aziraphale examined the snake that served for a doorknocker as Crowley flipped the door open. He hadn't actually remembered for who knows how many centuries what Crowley's original incarnation had been. Shaking his head still in amusement at the Round Table story, Aziraphale followed Crowley into the flat.

Pausing a moment in the entryway as though he'd just remembered something, Crowley looked at Aziraphale's bag, then led him down a cold, grey hallway into a room containing a mammoth desk, wall TV, and a pedestrian table in the corner that reminded Aziraphale of the one in their hotel in Florence.

Raising an eyebrow at the unlikely room furnishing, and wondering if there was now an empty spot on the hotel rug, Aziraphale unloaded his bag and looked around for plates while Crowley left the room without a word, probably to busy himself in whatever tasks required Crowley's attention after his long time away.

It took a moment to make the connection between the fact that his friend didn't eat, as well as the fact that the table was out of place in the apartment, to realize that he wasn't likely to find a cupboard filled with dishes and tableware. If a cursory examination of the surrounding rooms proved a theory Aziraphale was developing, he wasn't sure he was even going to find a kitchen. There did seem to be a conservatory that he glanced into. But he thought he'd save a house tour until Crowley could show him around.

Far at the end of the long hallway, he could see a statue dominating the space. His stomach tightened. He knew that marble piece. He should. He was the angel at the bottom and he and Crowley had spent weeks posing for it. So that's where it had gone. Starting down the hall, he stopped. Crowley had never said a word about having it, and Aziraphale was more curious to know how Crowley would explain that than even in seeing Cellini's work of lost art once again.

Returning to the - it was a study, he decided, - the angel miracled two lovely table settings that immediately brightened up the room. Sighing as he looked around at the rest of the décor, he looked again at the table. Instantly, the poppy plates disappeared, replaced by black pottery similar to a set he'd seen in a modern museum. He started to open the bag, then murmured, "Bugger it!" Immediately, a vase of luxurious pink roses appeared in the middle of the table.

Smiling defiantly, Aziraphale went back into the bag and laid out the contents. A large assortment of sushi from one of his favorite shops, and two cannoli. The latter having been Crowley's only request. As he positioned one on Crowley's plate, Aziraphale wondered if he should have made Crowley forget that, too. The last thing he needed was for the miserable pud to bring back unfortunate memories. The one he put on his own plate didn't look quite as good as it had when he'd bought it. He put that one back in the bag, and went to sit in the uncomfortable throne chair to await his friend.

**************************

"You're absolutely sure you don't mind, Crowley," Aziraphale asked, stretching out on his side of the double recliner with the pleasure of being replete.

"Nah, I'll get used to it. Guess the place could use a little brightening up."

The "place" was the conservatory, now filled with soft, comfortable furniture, lamps, end tables and a small wine rack topped with spotless wine glasses. It was pure pleasure to see the difference a little home decorating made in a space.

"You've got a draft of some sort. Leak in a window?"

"No, I don't."

"I'm afraid you do. Can't you see the leaves moving in the wind?"

Crowley waved a dismissive hand from the other end of the sofa. "They're just not used to having company around." Addressing the plants, he yelled, "You lot! Stop that! Bother Angel and you know what's going to happen."

It took Aziraphale a minute to understand what Crowley meant, then it hit him. If he hadn't felt sorry for any creature quivering in fear, he might have burst out laughing. Putting down the recliner foot, he got out of his chair and went over to examine the plants, the leaves now looking as if they would shake themselves off their stems.

It took a full five minutes and a low-voiced monologue that Crowley ignored before the shaking diminished and, finally, stopped.

"Mister is on the shelf behind the big one. Haven't got to it yet tonight. Had them in a sort of statis while I was gone so they wouldn't dry up."

The low monotone continued, along with the occasional sounds of spritzing.

"Didn't know you knew houseplants," Crowley said, offering Aziraphale a sip from the wine he'd just poured as the angel returned.

Rather than returning the glass, Aziraphale settled back into the recliner and buried his nose in the bowl. "If they're green, I can make them grow. Pour yourself your own. Consider this payment for my becoming your gardener."

"I like working with them. Don't think I want a gardener."

"When you stop scaring your plants, I might let you have them back."

"But they grow for me!" Putting down his wineglass, Crowley smiled a slightly drunken smile. "Would you grow for me?" With that, he leaned down and buried his nose in Aziraphale's groin, even as the angel tried to push him away. That turned out not to be a problem as Crowley suddenly sat back up. "You smell like hell."

Getting up as quickly as the recliner would let him, Aziraphale looked indignantly down at Crowley, now tumbled onto the floor and smiling up at him. "That isn't very nice to say to someone." Then the realization of just why he might smell like that caused a blush to grow on the angel's cheeks. "Crowley, I should tell you what I did today."

Getting clumsily to his feet, Crowley pushed Aziraphale toward the bathroom. "Later. Right now, just have a shower. You're not getting into my bed smelling like that."

"But I don't have anything to change into."

"Not a problem," Crowley reminded him with a smug smile.

As they left the room, the plants began to shake again for the fate of their new friend, so shortly known, so soon gone. And in all likelihood, they'd be next.

**************************

From the rich marble and glass of the shower, large enough to not need doors, to the ten foot high fireplace mantle that held the vanity and sink, the bathroom had the clean lines of the luxury Aziraphale had come to expect from Crowley's flat. He hated it.

The room was large enough that there was room for a soft hassock on which to sit while drying your feet. And that counter could have easily held a stack of thick, colorful bath towels. But all there were were the same dark, grey walls which made up the rest of the rooms. And mirrors to reflect them into some parody of eternity.

In fact, the only touch of lightness in the room was himself, standing naked before the mirror over the sink as he brushed out his wet hair. Once he had it fluffed to his satisfaction, Aziraphale took the huge, fluffy black towel from the heating rack and wrapped it around himself. But, once dry, he found himself reluctant to put it back and considered wearing it out into the bedroom. Unconsciously, he shook his head. One didn't welch on a bet. Even if it was pushing the point to think that Crowley had actually won it.

The full length mirrors that filled the room reflected what his friend was about to see. Pudge, Aziraphale had to admit. But he'd never seen the advantage of getting buff. At the worst, it might mean having to curtail his love of food. Or being challenged by males who would more likely view him as competition. At the best, it might mean having to avoid the occasional human who, even in this condition, found him attractive. Funny. Advances from humans had only been annoying. They were part of his business life, not his personal. It was his job to help them bring out the best in themselves. Not to offer himself on a platter for them to enjoy.

Wasn't the bed rather like a platter? The thought, once appearing, seemed to take root. Spread out on the bed for Crowley's delection. That wasn't a prideful assumption. There wasn't the slightest doubt in Aziraphale how Crowley felt about him. And it wasn't simply sexual.

Crowley only tried to tempt him because that's how Crowley was trained to approach the world. But the actual temptation was one Crowley would never understand. It was the desire to see if he could bring the fallen angel back. Of course "they" said that was impossible. Once fallen, eternally fallen. But if the word hadn't come down from the Chief Executive, Herself, then, as with the Ineffable Plan, who knew whether "they" were right or not.

Helping a friend. Yes, that was his reason for being here, naked as Adam when he first appeared near that wretched apple tree. And how could he tempt Crowley back into the light if there wasn't just the slightest trace of attraction on his side for his friend? Of course, Crowley would know if Aziraphale was just using his body to bring goodness into Crowley's world. It was necessary that he, Aziraphale, actually want...

A shiver ran down his body as the organ that was causing all this problem began to swell and grow. He watched it in the mirror, wondering if he should leave the bathroom while it was still engorged, or whether that would be too obvious. Also, too tempting, Aziraphale told himself, sternly. After all, he was an angel, and angels didn't engage in activities like...

Perhaps he could concentrate on some other types of good works for Crowley. Looking around the large room, he smiled as piles of colorful towels appeared, and an invitingly soft hassock took up a surprising amount of floor space - dark red to make a matching color accent with the towels. If you didn't know that it was for resting on after an exhausting shower, you might think that it was large enough for two naked men to...

Stiffening his spine and unstiffening something else, Aziraphale put a smile on his face and opened the bathroom door with the confident air of one who knows exactly what they're doing. Whether they do or not.

**************************

"Finally!" Jumping off the bed, Crowley hurried past Aziraphale and into the bathroom. "Thought you'd moved in there."

There was the sudden sound of someone falling, and then someone swearing, and then the pops of something discorporating. No problem, Aziraphale comforted himself. Next time he could try shades of blue.

The bed was turned down and the pillows were where they usually were on separate sides of the large bed. As usual, Cowley had appropriated the left side, leaving Aziraphale the side he actually preferred on the right. The bedlamp was lit and pooled yellow light over the pillows onto which he settled himself. Curious at seeing an old book on the nightstand, he picked it up and discovered it to be the autobiography of Benevento Cellini. So Benny had actually finished writing it! Aziraphale had wondered.

By the time Crowley came out of the bathroom, hair dripping water and rubbing himself down with a large red towel, the angel was deep into the second chapter and waved an abstracted hand toward his friend, thinking a minute later that he might have heard a chuckle but, when he looked up, Crowley was tucked up neatly on his side of the bed, light off and eyes closed. Feeling slightly guilty for not being a hospitable guest, Aziraphale returned to ancient Florence.

**************************

The book was just getting to an exciting part - Cellini had raised his sword to strike Luigi who, as Aziraphale remembered, probably deserved the blow - when the angel started feeling his balls growing a bit itchy. He tried to ignore it - he couldn't quite remember what had happened in the tale from the book and, anyway, if he'd heard anything it had probably been from Luigi's side rather than from Benny's - but the itching just grew. Sliding a hand under the cover, the angel absentmindedly made to rub the afflicted part and sat up abruptly as his hand ran into a pointed nose that he'd recognize anywhere.

Lifting the cover revealed Crowley, comfortably curled up nearby and blowing gently on Aziraphale's private regions. "Stop that!" A grin was the not unexpected reply.

"Your scar is gone." One finger delicately traced a location at the top of a thigh almost, but not quite, touching the springy, course white hair.

Aziraphale slapped the hand away even as his organ rose beneath the cover, but he did check the indicated area of burning skin before lowering the blanket.

Crowley just laughed and laid back down after blowing once more. "It was that ram you were trying to pull out of the mud of the river Jordan, wasn't it? You took off your robe so you wouldn't get it dirty and when that little bugger whacked you in your privates you fell right on your backside and one of his hoofs got you when he ran over you. That should have taught you something about good deeds."

"And you were no help at all, were you? While I lay there, possibly bleeding out, all you did was laugh."

The reminiscent smile on Crowley's lips didn't help the angel's mood. "You looked like a zebra - all black and white. No, a newspaper," he corrected himself. "Can't forget that you were red, too."

A reluctant smile curved Aziraphale's lips to match at the hoary old joke. "I kept that scar to remind myself that all life deserves our best effort, whether or not it appreciates it." He lifted the blanket and looked closer at the place where the scar had been. "Definitely gone."

"I could bite it back for you, if you'd like," Crowley helpfully offered.

"I would not like!" Aziraphale answered quickly. "And would you please come out from there. Having you staring at me that way is making me..."

"Excited?" There was a wealth of satisfaction in Crowley's voice.

"Itchy." Ignoring his friend, the angel reached down a hand to scratch but the hand was batted away as Crowley leaned over and took the offending globe in his mouth.

One attempt at movement showed Aziraphale that it could be dangerous to try to pull away too abruptly, and a second's reflection had him admitting that the itchiness had gone away. Settling back on his pillow, he tried to go through the reasons why it was perfectly logical to let a friend help, but as the friend's mouth moved to the other testicle and then on to the organ bouncing just above, the logical arguments began to fade into murmurs of pleasure.

If he didn't know better, he'd have said that a different mouth was sucking him than had performed that same task on the bed in Florence. Every motion was the same and yet different. He felt like a Steinway being played by an expert.

It was somewhere around the third time he thought that he was about to come when the mouth left altogether, leaving him almost shaking with frustration. His eyes opened as he felt the bed bounce and closed quickly again. Crowley was kneeling in front of him smoothing something over his own organ that was making it slick and shiny, while there was a look on his friend's face that he'd never seen there before. A look he was sure had been on his own face only a moment before.

Hands moved to his hips and began to urge him into a different position. Even while moving, Aziraphale objected.

"Crowley! We are NOT going to become lovers." Aziraphale could hear the trembling in his voice.

"Lovers. I hadn't thought of that. I just thought that we might put ourselves to sleep with some healthful exercise. But I'm quite ready to go partners if you want something more permanent."

Something - Aziraphale tried not to think what the something was - tucked itself neatly up against a part of himself that he spent little time thinking about unless he was showering. "We haven't talked this over. There are consequences we should think about."

"Thinking's overrated. Tell you what, we'll talk afterwards."

The something pressed in closer as Aziraphale tried to reconcile the fact that he could feel himself pressing back against it with the fact that this was probably a really bad idea.

"Crowley! I have a couple more questions for you."

Simultaneously, there was a squawk from Crowley, hands clenched around Aziraphale's waist and something buried itself deep inside Aziraphale's guts as the angel recognized Hastur's voice. A peep through clenched eyelids showed that Crowley had put a television near to the bed, probably so he had something to do while Aziraphale read. Hastur was standing in front of a circle of men who were sitting around a campfire, men and fire frozen into a moment of time that felt as if it had already been going on forever.

"This isn't a good time, Hastur."

Amazingly, the bulk that filled him pulled out and then slammed in again.

"Not a good time, at all."

"Well, that answers one question. You weren't lying about your friend being your bedmate. There was some discussion about whether we could believe you."

With a quick movement, Aziraphale twisted around, gasping at what the move did to his ass, and pulled the cover over them both. "I was trying to tell you earlier," he whispered, "while I was out I happened to drop by Hell to see if I could get them to leave you permanently alone.

"Crowley!"

"Switch!" Aziraphale demanded and initiated the transfer. A muffled yelp from Crowley said that the shift had been completed. The angel slammed himself into his friend, hissing, "Ssshhh." Then, settling himself and taking a deep breath, he threw off the cover and smiled at Hastur, while beginning a slow - and fascinating - movement in and out of the wiggling Crowley-in-Aziraphale.

"How good to see you, Hastur. And how are all the demons of Hell?"

"You told us..."

"Just a minute," Aziraphale-literally-in-Crowley interrupted, as he gasped, "Freeze!" to Crowley-in-Aziraphale. "There. I put him in a sort of statis," he explained, continuing the slow motion moving. "Now, what was it you wanted to know? And I'd really appreciate it if you made it quick. As I said, this isn't a great time."

It took Hastur a moment to get his mind off what the two on the bed were doing, but then he brought himself back to business. "People are asking, if you betrayed us before, why shouldn't we assume you're betraying us again."

"But I didn't betray us," Aziraphale-in-Crowley objected emphatically. "I saved us."

"Tell that to Satan!"

"Well, I admit that it's not easy to realize that your son is a brat, but really, Hastur, it's in everyone's best interests, including His."

"And why do you say that? Think you're smarter than Satan, himself?"

"No, not smarter. Just with maybe a better source of information." A few firm strokes made clear just what his source was. "And while I'm not saying a word against any of the really marvelous preparations you were making for the Great War, we had been outgunned and we would have been rolled up in no time. Now, we have time to match Heaven's Holy Warriors and the wonderful thing is that they have no idea that we know, so they're not likely to try to improve on what they've already done. So while they're slacking off, we'll be guaranteeing that when the Great War does finally happen, we can - beat - their - asses." The last words were emphasized with an appropriate demonstration.

Hastur burst out laughing. "You might very well be right, Crowley, I'll give you that. You have had a reputation for deviousness that let you get away with a lot that I would have cracked down on if it was only up to me." He thought about it as he watched the apparent Crowley moving in a deep and steady rhythm into the frozen Aziraphale.

"Alright," he finally agreed. "Alpha Centauri. You're sure?"

"Alpha Centauri." He would have said more but, unexpectedly, that rush of sensation he'd experienced when Crowley had sucked him off started and he couldn't have stopped moving if he'd wanted to. Which he didn't. There was a long moment of complete exhaustion overwhelming him as he collapsed onto Crowley-in-Aziraphale, flattening them both onto the bed.

Finally, turning his head to the absolutely fascinated Hastur, he gasped out, "Anything else? Bit knackered here."

"No, not for now. Get back to you later."

The silence in the room stretched on until it was clear the demon wasn't returning. Then the transfer happened again, and Crowley pulled himself out of Aziraphale and slammed across the room and back.

"What did you think you were doing?" The volume shook the window curtains.

"Making sure they stayed away from you," Aziraphale told the pillow. He moved and then stopped, tentatively twitching his rump. "I don't think I'll ever sit again."

Settling back quickly onto the bed, Crowley began massaging the butt beside him. "You did it to yourself. Literally." The words were unforgiving, but the tone was worried. "What can I do?"

Rolling over, Aziraphale winced. "Let me tell you what I did and why. Because it's inevitable that you're going to have to keep this farce going for us."

Crowley started to get up, stared at Aziraphale a moment, then relaxed back down. Leaning over, he gave him the first kiss they'd ever exchanged - slow, wet and exploring. When he pulled away, both of their eyes were glowing as brightly as the hellhound's had. Sitting up, Crowley took a deep breath. "Okay, tell me everything, but I'll tell you before you do that we're leaving tomorrow."

"Oh, right. Decide before the facts are in. Just the way to keep us both safe. Now, shut up." As he noticed where Crowley's hand had wandered, he added, "And keep doing that."

**************************

There would have been a spring in Aziraphale's step, if his nether regions hadn't made that a teeny bit awkward. Perhaps he shouldn't have encouraged Crowley that last time. Was six times too many for formerly virgin flesh to bear? No, he decided, matching his strides to the memory of that wonderous bulk slamming into his ass.

Who would have guessed something so silly to see could feel so good to experience? That made him look at the people filling the sidewalks around him, but they didn't seem to realize that they were passing someone whose rump still ached from those most wonderful activities. Well, he'd known about sex, of course. Who couldn't, living among humans all that time. But knowing and KNOWING were turning out to be two entirely different things.

He could only hope that where he was going THEY wouldn't know. The smile left his lips. He hadn't told Crowley what his plan was when he'd left him collapsed on the rumpled bed. He'd said he was going for a walk and a slight wave had been his lover's only response. He tried saying the word again in his mind. Lovers. It seemed like only yesterday he'd been worrying about the world ending, and now his whole concentration was on a fallen angel who had settled himself deeply into more than just Aziraphale's bum.

As he neared the entrance to the building, the angel shook his head as if to clear it. Concentration was everything now if he was to protect them both.

The escalator up was still working for him, as he'd expected it would. And when he arrived at the top, his welcoming committee was already there.

"What do you want?" Gabriel wasn't even trying to be polite.

"Just my new assignment," Aziraphale said with a casual smile. "Now that Armageddon is off, I assume you have some other good works that need doing."

Gabriel and Michael glanced at one another. "Antarctica could use a good twenty degree temperature drop. You could look into doing something about the glacier reduction problem." The tone was as nasty as Michael got.

Aziraphale ignored her and addressed himself to Gabriel. "Something local would be nice. I'm thinking of starting up a readers club at my shop and it wouldn't work to be away too often." There was a quiet firmness that said he wasn't here to apologize, but to reset a relationship that had been somewhat strained by Gabriel's attempt to kill him. Gabriel's stare also failed to discompose Aziraphale.

After a moment, Gabriel's eyes dropped and he turned to his group for a shared glance. He turned back. "We haven't thought that far ahead. Give us a few minutes." At Aziraphale's nod, Gabriel and his group of angels walked far enough away to gain some privacy for their conversation.

For a few minutes, Aziraphale watched their excited conversation, then, bored, wandered over to the window and looked down. He'd entered Heaven in London, but from here all of Earth stretched out into what seemed infinite distance. All of humanity went through their daily lives unaware of the heavenly guardians keeping watch. He didn't remember that often enough, he told himself.

A movement brought his attention back to the group that was approaching him, determination in every step. Aziraphale made sure that a pleasant smile was frozen onto his face as he turned to meet them.

"We're still trying to figure out what happened," Michael said with distaste. "You should have burned and your friend," the emphasis on the word twisted Michael's mouth, "should have dissolved."

"So sorry," Aziraphale said, mendaciously.

"Why didn't you?" Gabriel spat out.

"I was just as surprised as you were," was the reply. "Divine protection?" he asked, innocently.

That caused a ruffle through the group that was immediately suppressed. "We have a theory," Michael continued, the unpleasantness unabated.

Aziraphale waited, heart pounding. That they could have guessed the transfer seemed impossible but, on the other hand, they WERE angels.

"You've been with Crowley for 6000 years now, right?"

Suspicious, but confused, Aziraphale nodded but said nothing.

"Exchanged bodily fluids, perhaps?" Gabriel asked, smugly.

That Aziraphale had NOT expected. He could feel his face blaze and his rump burn. He opened his mouth to object but, in all honesty, closed it again. The answer was written plainly across his guilty countenance.

Gabriel turned to a disgusted Michael. "I told you so," he said triumphantly.

"But..." Aziraphale started.

Michael interrupted. "We've examined the thirty-four angelic commandments, and shagging a demon was not among them, as I suppose you're aware, so there's nothing we can charge you with, except contaminating your holy temple." She stared suddenly at Aziraphale. "And where did you get that body anyway? I forgot that you'd been discorporated on what SHOULD have been the last day. Stealing a body is definitely listed among the angelic commandments."

"Thou shalt not take what has not been assigned to you," Gabriel recited smugly.

"I didn't!" Aziraphale almost shouted. "The Antichrist created it for me."

Instantly, the small group moved back several steps. Then Gabriel regained control of his emotions. "That would have been an explanation for you, but not for that friend of yours. I think 6000 years of exchanging fluids is still the most likely explanation." Reluctantly, Michael nodded agreement, looking at Aziraphale as if he were a bug that had come into existence without the help of the Almighty.

"We've also decided that you were truthful in making known to us your position that Armageddon should be stopped. Unlike your friend, you never lied to us or attempted to trick us."

It was a bit harder for Aziraphale to maintain his bland expression, but he managed it as he nodded.

"So we'll assume that for some unknown reason..."

"Ineffable," Aziraphale corrected without thinking.

"For some ineffable reason," Gabriel pronounced through gritted teeth, "you are still in good favor with Her." He glanced quickly toward the ceiling, which didn't open up and rain down toads or anything else.

"So you will get a new assignment. I assume you are still intimate with the demon Crowley?"

Aziraphale's face hardened, but he nodded.

The group glanced at one another then back to him. "What we want are updates on just what Crowley and the other minions of Hell are up to now that Armageddon has been postponed." He emphasized the last word. "We think it would be useful to have an informant..."

"A spy," Aziraphale corrected unpleasantly.

"…an informant," Gabriel repeated, "so that we will have an advantage when the battle finally does take shape. In fact," he said in a kinder manner, "having an inside source might well make the difference, so perhaps this is all working out for the best." The others nodded in agreement.

"I could just move in with him," Aziraphale suggested with a falsely pleasant tone. "Then I'd always know exactly what he was up to."

"There, you see," Gabriel said to Michael, "I knew that Aziraphale would be able to see it our way." He turned back to the straight-backed angel, seeing agreement in the frozen smile. "That's an excellent idea. No one the wiser," he added, finger alongside his nose.

"I still need an assignment. For cover, you know," Aziraphale added through stiff lips.

"Of course." A swift huddle and then the huddle broke apart. "We've been noticing how often Christmas has been getting lost in the unfortunate modern fashion of people saying 'Happy Holidays.' Perhaps you could make it your mission to encourage people to drop the holidays greeting and return to the traditional one. And that would be a fluid enough project to let you keep very close track of your friend. Your shop will be perfect. You can fill it with all the paraphernalia to inspire the Christmas spirit."

"An excellent idea. I'll get right on it. Happy Christmas," Aziraphale called out as he left, just restraining himself from shaking his head as he realized that, once again, Crowley was probably right. This wasn't his side. His side was beside his partner.

By the time Aziraphale reached the street, he had his emotions almost under control. It was several blocks before they really were. Christmas. That was actually an excellent mission and one of which he heartily approved. Loose requirements, no firm goals to meet. He nodded to himself and smiled at a passerby, an old woman who nodded back. As for spying on Crowley, since he had, himself, won the agreement of the demons to leave Crowley alone, he could report his friend's activities with a clear conscience. He wouldn't be doing much of anything, and nothing for Hell except leading them astray.

His healing rump reminded him that he'd restrict his reports to Crowley's boring activities. The newspaper joke came to mind and he reminded himself that he should avoid certain "boring" activities and concentrate on the ones that would put his fellow angels to sleep. That made him laugh out loud, as he could imagine that Crowley's continued boring was, indeed, going to frequently put him to sleep.

He stopped in his tracks, the young man behind him crashing into him and muttering as he made his way, annoyed, around the still figure. How would Crowley react to the idea of Aziraphale moving in? They hadn't talked about that at all. Perhaps Crowley had just taken advantage of the situation they found themselves in since, after all, he was particularly good at that, as Aziraphale knew from having to counter some of Crowley's more inventive tricks.

Just who was it who had first mentioned "lover?" Horrified, Aziraphale realized that he had started that particular discussion. What if Crowley had just wanted a quick tumble and he had pushed his friend farther than his friend had intended to go? What if Crowley valued his privacy and wouldn't want Aziraphale around that much? What would he tell Gabriel and Michael?

Slowly he continued on his way, ignoring the quizzical looks of the people passing him impatiently on either side. Now that they had been - what had Gabriel called it - intimate, the angel wasn't sure he'd be willing to live without those delicious sensations for the next 6000 years. Then he stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk again, replaying the conversation he'd just had. Shagging Crowley was NOT among the thirty-four angelic commandments.

He began walking again, but this time quickly. He'd been reluctantly willing to lie with Crowley when he'd thought they were just falling to temptation, but realizing that it wasn't actually against the commandments - probably because it hadn't occurred to anyone that any angel would WANT to do it with any demon - Aziraphale felt like singing out loud. What an absolutely beautiful day. And why in Heaven or Hell had Crowley chosen a flat so far away!

******************************

As Aziraphale raised his hands to the snake knocker, the door opened before him with Crowley standing in the middle of the room looking thunderous. To someone who's just defied Heaven and Hell, however, he looked completely adorable. As Crowley opened his mouth to begin his litany of complaints, Aziraphale rushed across the room and filled that space with his own tongue. Crowley capitulated instantly and it was a while before they broke apart, Crowley burying his face in Aziraphale's neck.

"You smell heavenly," Crowley murmured, inhaling deeply. Then eyes, opening wide he pulled back in shock. "Angel! Please tell me you didn't!"

Gathering his dignity, Aziraphale straightened his clothing, not meeting Crowley's eyes. "It was necessary. And if you're going to ask why I didn't tell you, it was because you would have tried to stop me." Their eyes met and held. "You would have. You know you would."

For once, Crowley was speechless. When he finally nodded, the look on his face showed that he was also impressed. For someone who looked so soft, it was clear he was seeing the steel underneath his Angel. The change was immediately recognized by Aziraphale, who moved into his arms.

When he had his voice back, Crowley muttered into the angel's hair, "So have you got them all sorted out yet? You were gone long enough."

The head nodded, tickling Crowley's nose. "It seems we have the blessing of both of our parents." Aziraphale pulled back so that he could see Crowley while still holding him tightly. "They said we could move in together. If you want to, that is."

A slow grin grew on Crowley's face. "Just because you asked pretty? Come on, give it up. I'm beginning to think you're even sneakier than I am."

A quick kiss and Aziraphale pulled away, his own smile showing more than a hint of pride. "I think you might be right. And do you know what I want most at this very minute?"

Crowley moved in and attempted to take the angel back into his arms. "Me. And you'll be pleased to know the telly's no longer in the bedroom. No more unexpected company."

Evading the encircling arms, Aziraphale held up a hand. Crowley stopped instantly. "No. Well, yes, but not just yet. And good about the telly. You saved it from becoming a small pile of smoking tubes and such." Before Crowley could correct him about tubes and tellys, Aziraphale continued, "This has been a very complicated last few days and before we get distracted again," his objections were pro forma as Crowley managed to close the distance and experiment with a few of those distracting moves that had already proved successful. "Later!" Aziraphale repeated, reluctantly, but firmly, finally pushing Crowley away. "You're just proving what I'm trying to say. When we start doing that, I can't think straight, Crowley. So, since I'm starving, let's find a little restaurant and I'll catch you up on what went on today, and you can tell me what you think our next move should be."

Before Crowley could make the expected comments about his favorite moves, Aziraphale asked, a trace of tension in his voice. "And, Crowley, you never did answer me about our moving in together."

A grin was Crowley's only response as he held out a hand. "Dinner, first, Crowley." The demon's grin only got bigger as Aziraphale allowed himself to be led through the conservatory, where leaves rustled in excitement, rather than fear, and into the bedroom, where the cool, dark room had been transformed into something brighter, while still modern and spare. Even the bed looked more inviting, covered by Aziraphale's own cloud-soft comforter.

Pulling the angel over to the closet, Crowley indicated that he should open it. Aziraphale did. No longer was the space an expanse of blackness. Interspersed between dark clothes he recognized from years of seeing them on his friend, were old favorites of his own. Friends, too. Repositories of 6000 years of memories. The symbolism was too obvious to miss. Not a dark half and a light half, but an intermixing of two natures.

"Figured we'd already moved in together, so why not make it convenient. The other half of my stuff is over at your place. More practical." Looking anxiously at the silent angel, Crowley asked, "So, what do you think?"

Firmly closing the closet door, Aziraphale moved over to a chair, removed his coat and began working on his tie. "I think, perhaps, dinner later." As Crowley's hands went to his own waistband, Aziraphale warned, "Not too much later," and dropped his tie onto the still empty seat.

Luckily, as it turned out, the neighboring building had a 24 hour caff.

******************************

Humming to himself, Aziraphale finished preparing the shop for the first customers. He'd had a brilliant idea somewhere in the night, between bouts of sleeping and other things, and had spent the early morning moving out pieces of furniture from the shop to fill in some of the empty corners in Crowley's apartment, while Crowley stayed lie-in-bed.

What that meant was that he now had some empty corners in the shop. And not liking that one teeny bit, Aziraphale had come up with an extremely cosy little reading area, the lamps and soft sofas and chairs unconsciously echoing the area he'd built for himself and Crowley in Crowley's conservatory. He made a mental note to pick up some leaf polish on the way home.

Looking around to make sure that all was in readiness, Aziraphale went to the door, turned the sign around and turned the locked, glancing at the nearby clock to be sure he'd gotten opening time right. He looked back to find himself staring at Gabriel's shirt front. Tilting upward, Aziraphale's eyes met a smile he'd never trusted before and certainly wasn't about to start trusting. "Gabriel! What a surprise. Can I do anything for you?"

Indicating that he could get out of Gabriel's way, Gabriel moved around the smaller angel and into the shop, glancing around as he did. "So many books. I would think sitting around so much must be rather dull." He poked a finger into Aziraphale's middle. "Get out more. You've been letting this body of yours go."

Offering a pleasant smile instead of the comment he would have liked to have made, Aziraphale gestured for Gabriel to move over to the new reading area. "I must say that you've been looking exceptionally well, yourself. New waistcoat? I should ask for the name of your tailor."

Showing that flattery was the sauce that never went down the wrong way, Gabriel ran a hand across the cloth, as he took a seat on a particularly soft chair. "I think of clothing as an altar cloth to be laid on the temple that is my body. You never want to be too faddish or," he looked at Aziraphale's suit with some disdain, "too out of style. Classic. That's the way to go."

Any reply Aziraphale would have brought himself to make was interrupted by one of his regular customers coming in. Mr Mansort usually spent part of the morning standing near the window reading one of the Greek tomes that Aziraphale wouldn't let out of the shop. Waving slightly, the slightly stooped, elderly gentleman went to the box of cotton gloves Aziraphale required for examining the older texts. The angel turned back to Gabriel.

"So, Gabriel, what can I do for you? I assume you're not here for a book."

"Actually, we never got around to talking about what you've already learned from your friend. Once we've debriefed you, we'll arrange regular updates for whatever more you learn."

"Yes, useful spy information," Aziraphale agreed, thinking quickly. "I have learned something but it's probably nothing."

"Let me be the judge," Gabriel encouraged with an imperial wave of his hand.

"Of course." Humility was written across Aziraphale's face. "According to Crowley, a large number of demons are being moved to Alpha Centaur. He found that out because they wanted him to go, but he was able to talk them out of it. He didn't say anything about why they wanted him to go, just that he didn't want to." Watching Gabriel closely, Aziraphale added, "But, of course, as I said, it probably means nothing."

Superiority oozing from every pore, Gabriel gave a tight smile. "This could be very significant. I want to know..."

The sound of a book hitting the floor brought Aziraphale to his feet. "I have to..." But he was gone before he finished his sentence.

Annoyed, Gabriel glanced around the room as he considered whether he should have relocked the door when he came in. Deciding that he held no blame since a bookshop would be more conspicuous if it wasn't open during its specified hours, he leaned back in the chair, steepled his fingers and tapped them together. Raised voices could be heard across the room.

Bored, he glanced at the book lying beside his chair, unaware that it was the same book that Crowley had been previously reading to Aziraphale's book club. Picking up the book, Gabriel flipped through the pages until the book fell naturally open. Gabriel slammed it shut. Face bright red, he glanced around the shop. The argument still raged and no one else had entered.

Reopening the book, he examined the illustration in some detail. One well-built young man was trying to swallow the sexual organ of another. Gabriel gave a quick look around before returning to the page. A following paragraph described the appropriate technique to use to maximize the pleasurable sensation. The last sentence read, "And when your partner comes, he'll think he died and went to Heaven."

Who would have thought that pornography had a spiritual side, Gabriel thought, as he leafed through a few more pages, examining the illustrations with growing interest.

The appearance at Gabriel's side of Aziraphale almost made him slam the book closed again, but he brazened it out as the angel looked over his shoulder. "One would think that sexuality needed little instruction," Gabriel said, his face reddening.

Leaning over Gabriel's shoulder, Aziraphale managed to keep his own countenance unchanged as he flipped through a few pages in Gabriel's book over the angel's shoulder. "That's an excellent position," he casually said, tapping a finger on the phallus that was shown partially inserted into a partner. "The body's natural pleasure centers are maximally stimulated during the deepest penetration." Moving to a nearby chair, he settled into it comfortably. "I never cease to be awed at the Great Design that created drives to increase the race, while also creating ways to satisfy those drives without having the Earth over-populated."

"You've..." Gabriel couldn't seem to finish the sentence.

"Used that position? Of course. While I wouldn't recommend it for the novice, one quickly learns how to accommodate."

"But a demon, Aziraphale! You're desecrecrating your temple!"

"You might want to think of it as annointing the temple," Aziraphale suggested, amazed at himself for keeping a straight face during this conversation. "And as for my partner being a demon, I can't imagine a better place to spread the seed of goodness." Turning away to cough, Aziraphale turned back when his expression was again under control.

"I should have guessed that a body made by the Antichrist would have been defective," Gabriel said, pulling back fastidiously as if fearing some contagion, and hurriedly getting to his feet. As they reached the door, another regular entered and Gabriel held up the book he hadn't left by the chair. "Pornography," he said brightly. "Humans can never get enough of it."

Speechless, Mrs Angles gave Azeraphale an imploring look and he immediately swept Gabriel out the door saying before closing the door on him, "Wednesdays. We should do our reports on Wednesdays."

The angel leaned back on the door for a moment then, stiffening his spine, he smiled broadly and put his arm around the woman, leading her to the table of Egyptian texts on myths and embalming.

******************************

With the wind whipping through his hair and the scenery almost blurring as it sped past, Crowley listened to the gears as they synchromeshed themselves through a turn. There was sheer joy in his heart as he aimed the car at an optimal angle across the narrow lane, secure that no other car would dare be going the other way.

There was something about the feel of the steering wheel beneath his hands. Something almost primal. The wood warmed to his hands. It was as though he were flying, something that one could never do in this age of telegraph wires and radar.

A flick of the wrist and a chat show broke the still night. "So I told my sister, touch that man and I'll cut off your..." Another wave of a hand and classical music thundered out of the speakers, the cannons already driving toward the conclusion of Tchaikovsky's Overture. Perfect! He let the car speed up as the music did.

Dimly heard, a voice was shouting something and then the volume of the music diminished just as the climax approached. "I SAID..."  
The voice of Hastur, realizing that he could now be heard, continued at a more reasonable volume. "I can't hear you."

"Bollocks!" Every ounce of disgust Crowley felt went into that low-voiced complaint.

"What did you say?" Hastur asked.

"Balking. The shift to that gear was feeling like it's balking. But enough about my car. How are you doing this lovely evening? It's been what - a month? Thought you were going to keep in touch?"

"I've been trying." There was frustration in Hastur's tinny voice. "Didn't you get the messages I left? And when I try to reach you through the telly, all I can see is black."

That deserved, and got, a wide grin. They'd put the telly into the closet. "No, no messages. Actually, when I think of it, I haven't received messages from anyone. Have to check that the answerphone is working. Had a little problem with it a while ago. So you've reached me now. What's up?"

"We need to see you right away."

"Oh, too bad. I'm way out of London and won't be back until tomorrow."

"You were right about Alpha Centauri."

"I was?" Crowley worked to remove the shock from his voice. "Of course, I was."

"So we need to give you some questions we want you to ask that angel of yours. Look, just ahead of you there's a petrol station. Go round the back to the toilets and you'll find one of our back doors."

"Forget it!"

"Five minutes ahead. Be there!"

A soft Brahms lullabye took the place of the tinny voice. Crowley waved it into silence. "Toilets. How appropriate."

******************************

"What's so important that you needed me here right away?" Same old Hell, just a new way down. At least he hadn't had to step into one of the toilets. Crowley had seen the Harry Potter movies and that part had been disgusting. If there had been a clean bit of floor, he might have tried wiping his shoes. Whoever had last used the loo hadn't been overly fastidious.

"We sent out a scouting party," Hastur explained, "and we were very lucky not to get caught. You were right about the forward bases. The scouts counted maybe twenty angels and they were clearly setting up for more coming."

Remembering a throwaway comment of Aziraphale's about having passed on Crowley's fantasy theory to Heaven, Crowley slouched into a relaxed posture. "Did they see you?"

"No. The scout was sure of that."

"Well, maybe you should let them. Might slow them down. Make them be a little more careful about what they're doing."

"I'll pass that on. Here's a list of questions we want you to ask your friend." The list floated into Crowley's hand. "The most important one is that we need to know their timeframe. If they're going to be making a push to terraform one of those potential planets soon, we'll need to make our own countermoves."

"Right on it," Crowley assured Hastur.

Glancing around at the nearby demons, Hastur pointed off with his chin. "Let's walk."

Surprised and curious, Crowley turned and together they walked in silence until they had put some distance between themselves and the demons Crowley recognized. You were never going to be alone in Hell. It was more like the Star Trek planet - Gideon - that was so crowded. But you could, at least, not be overheard by people who cared what you were saying. The demons they were walking among now seemed to care about nothing, least of all what they were saying.

Hastur finally stopped. There was an awkward pause as he searched for words. Finally he said, "I've had a very interesting conversation with Gabriel. How long were you shagging Aziraphale before you could touch holy water? That's something that could be extremely useful."

"Oh, no question. Very useful. Insurance policy, I'd call it. But I have no idea when the protection kicked in. I was as surprised as you were when I didn't dissolve. No reason I would ever have gone near holy water, so I wasn't likely to find out."

That seemed to make sense to Hastur. "Well, how long have you been bonking him?"

Rubbing his chin, Crowley thought about it, but finally just shook his head. "Not in the Garden. I'd have remembered that. But exactly when we started..." His voice faded out. Then he brightened. "Somewhere between two and three thousand years, I'd guess. Because I was definitely putting it to him when we were both working Alexander the Great's army." He closed his eyes for a moment in apparent ecstasy. "Double dated with Alex and Helphi. Cute kid, Alex. Statues never did him justice."

Seeing the look of frustration on Hastur's face, Crowley reminded him, "So it might take a while. What's your rush? You've got eternity. Have someone in mind? I should tell you, I don't share." The last had an edge that was unmistakable.

"Actually, I was rather thinking about Gabriel," Hastur admitted.

"Oh, good choice! Big! He'll tan your bum for you. But is there any reason you think he might be willing?"

"I'm not really sure, but the last time I saw him, he was looking at me sort of funny."

"Disgust," Crowley offered sympathetically.

"That's his normal way but, no, it was something else."

"Well, as someone who got inside an angel's pants, you want some advice from me?"

Clearly, Hastur wanted to say no but, in the end, he nodded.

"Clothes."

"Clothes?" Hastur repeated in confusion.

"Clothes. Angel tells me that Gabriel is obsessed with clothes. Don't you remember the way he dresses?" At Hastur's nod, Crowley continued in a lowered voice, after checking who was nearby, "Angel's got the name of Gabriel's tailor. You go see him, have him deck you out in something that Gabriel would wear himself. Now you can't bring anything like that down here."

Hastur shook his head emphatically.

"So you get yourself a pied a terre - that's a flat where you keep your Earth clothes. Next time you need to meet with Gabriel, you show up in your new outfit, maybe invite him back to your place for more privacy. Then, my dear Hastur, it's up to you to get into his pants." A thought occurred to Crowley. "Shower. Whether you think you need it or not. Check out a chemist. Lots of stuff to put in your hair. And get something for your skin. Maybe something that won't rub off if you've got your face pressed into a pillow."

With a friendly slap to Hastur's shoulder, Crowley turned to leave, paused and turned back. "You have any questions - personal ones - you just ask. I want you to know that there is nothing I'd like better than to know you got up Gabriel's ass."

Crowley was almost to Hell's backdoor before he heard Hastur yell out, "Thanks, Crowley." Unable to turn as he couldn't stop laughing, Crowley just waved an arm and trotted for the door.

******************************

"Angel!"

The shout startled Aziraphale into dropping the tree ornament, but he was able to catch it before it hit the floor. "In here!" he yelled back, hastily tucking the tiny creche behind the larger of the plants by the window. It just wasn't Christmas with only the tree, magnificent though it was starting to look.

"Oh, very nice."

A smile was Crowley's reward for the compliment. "Can you hand me that gold star?" As Crowley reached for one of the glass ornaments spread over the double recliner, Aziraphale stopped him. "No, that's more silver. The one next to it. Exactly."

Looking around for a place to sit and not seeing one, Crowley moved closer to the ladder on which the angel stood, and casually examined a leaf that began trembling. A soft humming started above his head and the shaking stopped. "I take it you've never heard of tough love," Crowley said then walked over to a chair and picked up a box of glass balls that hadn't yet been unpacked. Removing one from the box, he handed it to Aziraphale and took out another one in readiness. "Do you know, I think this is my very first Christmas tree."

"Like it?" the angel asked, reaching down for the next ball.

"I do," Crowley said, surprise in his voice. He looked around the room. "Cosy." After handing Angel another ball, he stepped back to look up at the tree, just a foot short of the ceiling. "Perfect." Satisfaction changed to suspicion which was confirmed when Aziraphale glanced away for a moment then met his eyes defiantly.

"Christmas trees are supposed to be perfect." He gestured with his chin for the candy canes on what was normally Crowley's chair when Aziraphale wanted to sprawl on the double recliner, this one a large and padded, poppy-covered recliner that encouraged almost every position except sitting up straight.

Obediently, Crowley gathered a handful of the striped delights and began reaching them up. "If you say so. You're the expert on Christmas." As Aziraphale stretched to evenly distribute the canes around the area in which he was working, Crowley began examining the hundreds of ornaments the angel had already hung and smiled. "Deck the Halls" immediately changed to "Santa's Coming and He's Gonna Kick Your Ass."

"Crowley!" Immediately the music became "O Little Town of Bethlehem."

With a grin, Crowley handed him the last of the canes as the music became "O, Come All Ye Faithful." Since the new music had raised the obligatory blush in his partner while still continuing to play, Crowley wandered away to examine the leaves of his favorites, who only trembled slightly as he peered closely at the brightly polished greenery. Then he collapsed into his chair.

Watching him for a moment, Aziraphale sighed then allowed the tree to completely fill with the remainder of the ornaments and masses of perfectly draped, old-fashioned tinsel. There was satisfaction as he stood back to examine his work and then the ladder disappeared.

Taking his place in his own red leather wingback, Aziraphale pulled the footrest to the chair into a comfortable position with his foot and leaned back, a job well done. He glanced at Crowley, recognizing the beginning of another bout of his partner's boredom. "How did your job hunting go?" He asked brightly. "Or, rather, did you come up with any profession that you might like to take up. I thought seeing that court case might interest you in becoming a solicitor. They do have a reputation of being a parallel profession to your old one."

"Have you seen the books in their offices?" There was true horror in Crowley's voice.

"True," admitted Aziraphale. "I forgot about that." He brightened again. "You could start a vineyard. Learn to make wine. You like growing things and I could be your consultant." Drooping as he thought through the idea, he ended by shaking his head. "You'd drink up all the profits."

"But they'd grow back the next year," Crowley replied, somewhat intrigued by that idea.

"You're very knowledgable about cars. What about looking into car sales? That's another profession that might be just down your line." He added a funny timber to his voice. "Tempt the customers into one over their budget or one that was owned by that little old lady." Then he stopped in shock. "What am I saying? Forget all that. We'll come up with something..." The words faded away as his eyes glazed. "Speed. You need something that lets you go fast."

"London cabbie," Crowley said thoughtfully, considering the idea. Getting deeper into it, he began listing "Race car driver, ski instructor, ooohhhh, sky diver." The last was said with longing.

Sympathy filled Aziraphale's voice. "We don't get to do that anymore, do we? Radar everywhere. And all those smartphones!"

"While I was out, I did stop by that travel agency around the corner from here. Got a load of brochures wanted you to see."

Aziraphale, who had steepled his fingers and been staring at them, sat up straight. "What about advice to the lovelorn? You're always going on about understanding people. Instead of trying to make them miserable, you could offer suggestions to make their lives better."

"Got enough of that with Hastur. If he gets into one more argument with Gabriel and comes complaining to me, I'm going to..."

"At least you can get away from him by staying away from radios and tellys and such. Gabriel! One minute you're alone. Next minute he's there almost crying his eyes out." Aziraphale thought for a moment. "Come to think of it, we haven't heard from either of them for a few days."

"Good reason to take a holiday. I'll get the brochures."

"That's fine for you to say," Aziraphale called after him, "but your flat is one of the only places Gabriel never pops into. We should stay here and I'll make us hot toddies."

With the timing that makes coincidences so enjoyable as a conversation topic, the phone beside the chair rang. As Aziraphale had feared with the first buzz, it was a desperate Gabriel. Getting up and pacing in a semicircle around the table, Aziraphale managed to get the archangel calmed down enough to listen to his newest story, making the occasional agreeable murmurs to sound as though he were actually listening.

He glanced up to see Crowley come into the room, a fistfull of brochures in one hand and his cell phone plastered to an ear with the other. There was a look of total desperation on his face.

Grabbing the bunch of papers, Aziraphale threw them onto the table and spread them out, quickly sorting them into two piles, all the while murmuring comforting sounds while listening to Crowley growl, "Lubricant! I told you any chemist has it!" Grabbing one - hanggliding with eagles - he shoved it at Crowley, who glanced at it and nodded. "No! Don't go near the holy water yet. And when you do, assume you aren't protected, not that you are!"

They looked at one another and, simultaneously, said into their respective phones, "Have to run. All going to be fine. Talk to you soon."

Crowley added in a loud voice before he hung up. "I don't know if they come in flavors. Ask!"

Aziraphale looked at him questioningly, but Crowley shook his head, then smiled. "Never mind. Tell you later. Quick stop then we're on our way." He indicated the tree. "Can you finish up?"

"Of course!" As Crowley hurried out of the room, Aziraphale called after him, "Tangerine. See if they have tangerine."

******************************

Within fifty years, most of the angels in Heaven were shagging demons in Hell. And Alpha Centauri was experiencing so much traffic with the legions of both sides at newly built way stations that the astronomical area threatened to become almost as crowded as Earth. All it was missing was the presence of humans.

With so many angels and demons not having time to "help" with the lives of humanity, one would think humanity might have experienced a golden age. But, in fact, nothing really changed because, as Cowley and Aziraphale had explained to one another, their being lazy and not doing all that much to help or hurt mankind hadn't been a problem because men could do it all - the good and the bad - perfectly well on their own.

As for the lovers, Cowley's imagination and Aziraphale's determination kept the relationship going in the most delightful fashion while, back in Heaven, a committee argued eternally about just what commandments might need modification. But, given the widespread cooperative activities in which Heaven and Hell were currently joined, it was unlikely that our two would find themselves in any awkward positions. Unless they wanted to be, of course.


End file.
